


sweater weather.

by jetjumped



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-10 23:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8943118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetjumped/pseuds/jetjumped
Summary: Three girlfriends bond over Christmas festivities and plenty of snow.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morganzephyr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morganzephyr/gifts).



> Merry Christmas to you, the rightfully proclaimed Best and Only D.Va!! I'm afraid it feels more like I'm describing an au rather than writing a properly thought out story but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless ^^

-•-

 Fareeha Amari peers over the railing and estimates how fast she’ll hit the ground when she takes a wrong step forward. The gleaming white that spreads before her looks so unassuming, she doesn’t think it will take long. A sharp scraping whisks past her. This month’s Top 50 booms from the overhead speakers; she knew the words to almost half the songs from how often the same playlist was looped even some place like Watchpoint. The sky would have been obscured by a white mirroring the floor if it had been daylight, but for now Fareeha can only imagine what the stars might look like above shimmering lights marking the city that breaks the horizon.

The same girl whisks past her yet again, not stopping at the railing for that would be a waste of what precious little time they had left. Fareeha watches her effortless dance for a moment longer than she would normally permit herself and looks back down to her boots with their laces tied far tighter than most would argue necessary. _It wouldn’t be that big a blow to your pride if you used the railing._ Fareeha frowns, chastising herself for taking so long. Someone shouts behind her and in surprise Fareeha’s first step is more of a skid. Thank goodness she still had one foot off the frozen lake.

‘Fareeha!’ _Now_ this _is a blow to your dumb pride, Amari._ She makes sure to keep her weight on her stable leg lest she slip and twists around to greet Angela once satisfied.  

‘Angela,’ Fareeha replies, keeping her calm. 

She wonders if her classmate came to offer tips or tend to the inevitable bruises iceskating would procure. ‘Two years younger but still a prodigy,’ Ziegler gestures to the girl who leaps with a flourish and lands - arabesque(?) - with enough grace to distract the young Egyptian. ‘Satya Vaswani,’ Angela continues, ‘She looked genuinely excited when Doctor Winston mentioned iceskating in Science last week, though I didn’t expect any of this.’ This Satya twirls again, suddenly looking up at her two-person audience as she slows to a halt.

Red-faced, Fareeha turns away. Angela just giggles and tugs her friend by the elbow, sliding onto the ice rink with ease.

 

-•-

 

_That,_ Satya’s skates scrape the ice harder than she had intended, _was five times too many._ She had only made five errors and was dutifully keeping count of every unwanted bump and skid the ice would offer when the blades beneath her feet didn’t obey. A flawlessly performed double axel redeems the slip up. _Ah, now that is how it should be._

No applause sounds from the few hesitant students still standing jelly-legged by the rink’s entrance. She frowns, executing another perfect spin on ice as hard as her expression. _It must have been your mistakes, otherwise it would have been an outstanding performance - oh._ Two older students stand watching from the edge of the rink, the blonde whom she recognises as a teaching assistant for her Science class. It was a wonder they had never had a proper conversation.

Angela… Ziegler, _that’s correct,_ leads her friend onto the ice with the kind of patience someone her age rarely possessed. Her friend doesn’t lunge for the railing as she stumbles forward, though Satya notes how often she glances at it, silently advising that a complete beginner or someone lacking in skill should take advantage of everything thrown their way. She spins away, merely humming to herself when there’s a loud cursing in Arabic behind her, frustration palpable in that short, two-syllable word.

‘Hold on, here, I’ll get her to teach you.’ Angela helps the girl back to her feet and guides her hands to the railing. Satya keeps gliding and spinning and leaping.

‘No, wait! _Angela!_ ’ 

Her eyes must fall shut at some point during her next twirl for Angela’s smiling face appears all too quickly, something of an apology lost as the both of them almost lose their balance in a desperate fight for stability against the treacherous ice. It was as much an ice skater’s friend as it was their downfall, but for now, Satya is grateful that it chooses to act amiable. She composes herself, taps the blades of her boots once, twice against the ice to rid them of unwanted frost and misses the question posed by the older student.

_Teach her?_ ‘Excuse me?’

‘She refuses to take my advice,’ Angela laughs, shaking her head as though she had been telling her stubborn friend to eat her vegetables, ‘I was hoping you would have more luck. Fareeha has been watching you for some time now, anyway.’  

_And for good reason,_ part of Satya wants to say. She didn’t spend seven years of her life learning to do this for nothing. But she bites her tongue and ends up agreeing, wondering in utter confusion what led her to make such a decision.

 

-•-•-•-

  

_[several years later]_

The three mugs of hot cocoa bump together with a quiet clink, warm laughter filling the gaps between snow in the patchwork walls of their igloo. _Snow dome_ would have been a more apposite term, although the ceiling never fully came together either. Angela knows Satya could have done a better job, but she and Fareeha, proud architects of the poorly constructed walls, were not the ones studying Physics.   

Satya comments that a rogue snowball might prove fatal for the igloo and its occupants before shooing the two of them out a collapsing doorway. When they return, she hasn’t bothered repairing the walls - the were beyond help - but three newly formed mounds of snow function well enough as seats. 

‘It definitely helped break the ice,’ Fareeha remarks, recalling what had been her first and last skating lesson with Satya.

Satya makes a face when Fareeha smirks. Angela just snorts, somehow managing to keep her drink from spilling.

‘You refused to communicate with me for the entirety of that lesson.’

‘I was… focusing.’ Fareeha goes to nudge Satya with an elbow, freezing halfway when some of her drink sloshes into the snow.

‘It all worked out in the end, didn’t it?’ Angela raises her mug in a toast, ‘To the figure skating gold medalist Vaswani and her protégée-turned-ice-hockey-champion Amari.’  

‘Don’t forget yourself, ya amar.’

‘You would have claimed those medals for your own if you had not returned to Switzerland,’ says Satya, well aware that Angela had indeed won her fair share of competitions in Europe despite every effort she had taken to keep quiet about them.

‘You flatter me, Schätzli.’

Fareeha and Satya both agree that Angela had always been far too modest and tell her as much.

 

-•-

 

The sudden contact startles Fareeha, though it was nothing like colliding face first with the glass boards shielding her from attentive ice hockey fans. Or rather, shielding the fans from _her._ She wears a grin just the same, packing together the snow in her fist as she hides behind a snow fort built with as much ineptitude as the snow dome constructed only yesterday. _A whole barrage of snowballs should do the trick,_ she thinks, placing her twentieth snowball inside a small basket. 

_Three. Two. One._

Fareeha leaps over the short wall, snowball in one hand and basket carrying the rest in the other. She dashes over to where Angela’s laughter betrayed her position and immediately begins pelting her with snowball after snowball, Angela finding it hard to intersperse her laughter and shrieking with requests for Fareeha to stop. Finally, Fareeha runs out of ammo and steps back to admire her handiwork.

The sight of the usually well composed Swiss now drenched in snow, strands of hair all astray and expression one of forced disdain, leaves Fareeha doubled over in a fit of laughter. Angela would have loved to pretend she wasn’t smirking in adoration but this was too much. Neither of them hear the approaching footsteps signaling their timely demise in what had only moments before been a frantic snowball fight.

‘The moment you drop your guard is your downfall,’ Satya proclaims in that regal manner which her voice matches so easily, and the theatricality it provides is fitting. In one of those rare moments when her eyes dance a duet with Angela’s in fondness for their favourite hockey player, Satya upturns an entire bucket of powdery snow over the two of them. ‘I win.’

Angela throws up her arms in defeat, scattering snow over Satya’s pristine winter jacket in the process. ‘There was no contest, you _both_ snuck up on me,’ she says, shedding any semblance of professionalism as she pouts. Satya is on the cusp of pointing out that Fareeha is in no fit state herself but suddenly Fareeha has arms wrapped around the both of them, covering her jacket with even _more_ snow.

Fareeha chuckles at Satya’s expression, ‘Be glad I was playing nice this time, habibti.’ 

Angela looks put upon, speaking with little thought to her words. ‘If sneaking up on your girlfriend is “nice”, I would hate to be on the receiving end of whatever you both consider “naughty,” Liebe.’ In her head, the wording had seemed fitting of the festive season but as they are spoken, Angela feels the tips of her ears burn up. 

Satya covers her mouth to hide a smirk which gives way to a barely stifled laugh when Fareeha fails to comment eloquently - let alone, at all - cheeks darkening a shade instead. ‘I would have thought all the snow on you two would make blushing harder, but it seems I was mistaken.’ Satya’s smile widens as that does nothing to help either of the two she would gladly call her own.

Vaswani, 1. Amari and Ziegler, 0. They could balance the odds later.

 

-•-


End file.
